


After Cure

by IamHurricane



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Friends as Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Jealousy, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, Spoilers for The Maze Runner:death cure the official graphic novel prelude, Survival, Survivor Guilt, build-up, spoilers for death cure, trenda - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-12 05:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamHurricane/pseuds/IamHurricane
Summary: Post: Maze Runner: The Death Cure movie.Sensing someone watching him, his eyes dart downward, and the tips of his ears flush when he realizes that it's Brenda staring up at him. Her rifle is slung over one shoulder and her head cocks to one side, as she raises her eyebrow at him.Thomas resists the sudden impulse to explain himself.He shrugs his shoulders, "What?" he asks, innocently, offering her a slight smirk.Brenda bites the inside of her cheek, giving him the ghost of a smile as she shakes her head at him. His stomach does a funny little flip. That exasperated little smile of hers, it does things to him.She hitches her rifle by it's strap and eyes him up and down, "If you pop any of those stitches, I'm gonna kick your ass." She threatens, simply with a sweet smile.





	1. Stitches

 

**_Author's Note: No copyright infringement intended. This story takes place in the Maze Runner movie-verse. It's post Death Cure so there WILL BE SPOILERS BEWARE. And it's unapologetically Trenda-centric. Enjoy!_ **

* * *

 

** After Cure  **

A soft breeze tousles Thomas' hair as he sits perched on the roof of a ramshackle hut on the beach. He heaves another bundle of thatching onto the slats, filling in another gap in the roof. Adjusting it until it slides into place.

His hands drop to his knees, as he pauses taking a breath. His shoulders sagging in relief, as he brushes at his sweaty brow with the back of his gloved hand. He draws in a deep breath of the warm, salt sea air, as he squints into the brilliance of the midmorning sun. And for a moment he just let himself get lost in the roll of the surf along the shore.

Then he returns to his work, reaching for another bundle of thatching. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Minho watching him from across the roof.

"You good?" The other boy asks him, with a tilt of his head, his eyes suspicious.

Thomas waves him off. He hates how everybody keeps doing that. He's been going stir crazy these last few weeks recovering from his wounds. And while he's definitely still weakened by his injuries, he's getting stronger each day. It's frustrating how none of them seem to understand how restless he feels.

Brenda still won't let him tag along with her on hunting trips, and Jorge always finds excuses for why Thomas can't help with scavenging the old ship. Even Vince flat out refuses to let him lift a finger on any project around camp. He won't even let him keep watch at night.

So he's been relegated to husking coconuts with the youngest of the kids and helping Frypan in the kitchens. He'd finally managed to convinced Minho to let him help thatching roofs. But the other boy just keeps watching him like a hawk, as if he was gonna keel over at any second. Which he isn't. His side throbs as if to contradict him, but Thomas powers through.

He has to stop and start a few times, his side uncomfortable and his muscles feeling a bit strained from disuse but more than anything it feels good to be working. After another half an hour they finish and Thomas feels a sweet sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Minho scales his way along the ridge of the roof and plunks down beside him clapping him on the shoulder. "Stubborn shank." He says, with a shake of his head, offering Thomas a drink from his canteen. Thomas gives a shrug and accepts the canteen with a smirk, not even bothering to defend himself.

His eyes trail over the camp. It's a ramshackle assortment of shacks, tents and huts that stretch along the beach and into the tree-line. Some of the structures are older and in the midst of being repaired like the one that and he and Minho had just re-thatched.

But there are fourteen new structures scattered about the camp that are in various stages of construction. The Right Arm have been funnelling immunes to this island for years to keep them safe. But ever since Thomas and the others had arrived, the safe haven has more than doubled in size.

All around him were signs of progress, signs of life. Woodsmoke curls in the air from the cooking fires, and the thick aroma of spices waft through the camp. A few of the teens are out in the fields, behind them harvesting some of the wild grains, and a few of the older boys are knee deep in the surf, hauling in nets. And on the far side of the camp there is a clatter of mallets as a crew of about five or six, work on a new shack.

Sensing someone watching him, his eyes dart downward, and the tips of his ears flush when he realizes that it's Brenda staring up at him. Her rifle is slung over one shoulder and her head cocks to one side, as she raises her eyebrow at him.

Thomas resists the sudden impulse to explain himself.

He shrugs his shoulders, "What?" he asks, innocently, offering her a slight smirk.

Brenda bites the inside of her cheek, giving him the ghost of a smile as she shakes her head at him. His stomach does a funny little flip. That exasperated little smile of hers, it does things to him.

She hitches her rifle by it's strap , and eyes him up and down, "If you pop any of those stitches, I'm gonna kick your ass." She threatens, simply with a sweet smile. And then with a little wave she saunters off toward the edge of camp.

Minho's shoulders shake with laughter and Thomas blows out a breath as he watches her go. Then frowning at Minho he smacks the back of his friend's head to shut him up. Minho just laughs harder, and Thomas starts chuckling with him and has to curl his arm protectively around his ribs as pain lances through his side. He grits his teeth and tries to stop laughing. His eyes water slightly, he blinks and has to take a steadying breath. Minho nudges his shoulder slightly.

"C'mon, shuckface, let's get you down from here before you hurt yourself." Minho teases and he crawls across the roof toward to the ladder. Thomas rolls his eyes and sighs in resignation. But before he makes a move to follow Minho his eyes search the outskirts of the camp for one last glimpse of Brenda before she heads off to hunt.

He finds her climbing up the slight outcropping of rocks that leads to the woods. Then he stiffens when he notices somebody else with her. Brenda usually hunts alone. Every now and then she'll join in with one of the hunting parties, but its usually because they ask. Brenda is a crack shot so she doesn't need the help, she hunts better alone. At least that's what she'd told him when had tried to persuade her to let him come along. So why is Gally with her?

Thomas tenses as he watches the two of them together. Gally reaches the top of the rocks first and he bends down offering Brenda a hand up. Thomas scoffs, _She doesn't need his help._ He's seen her bound up those rocks faster than anyone. So that's why it aggravates him when he notices that she takes Gally's hand and lets him help her up.

Jealousy surges up unexpectedly inside him. Thomas twists his lips and looks away. Brenda is his friend. Even if they've kissed more than once, they're still friends. Weren't they? Thomas shakes his head at himself and moves to climb down the ladder. When he hops down from the ladder and lands next to Minho he notices a red smudge on one of the rungs. His eyes dart down to his hand that's smeared red, and then to his side where blood is seeping through his shirt.

"Shuck," he grumbles under his breath. He's popped his stitches again.

 

 

 


	2. Something Selfish

  ** _(Author's Note: Spoiler's for both the Death Cure Movie and the Maze Runner the Death Cure Graphic Novel prelude)_**

After he tears open his stitches Minho abandons him to Vince, who grumbles at him for wasting medical supplies the whole time he stitches him up. Thomas just rolls his eyes and mouths off at the surly old resistance fighter. He knows Vince is right, but he's too pissed off to stop himself. For whatever reason Vince doesn't take the bait. He just shut his mouth and finishes patching him up.

After Vince lets him off the hook, Thomas goes down to the river and takes his newfound aggression out on scrubbing the dried blood from his shirt. He doesn't have any right to feel this pissed off.

He knows they're all just looking out for him. But they're making him feel like he's nothing but a greenie all over again. He's restless and agitated. He hates feeling useless. And he especially hates being told what he can and can't do. But what's pissing him off right now more than anything, is the fact that Brenda is out in the woods with Gally... _alone._

It's not the first time that the thought of her and someone else has had this effect on him. A couple of months before they pulled the train job, he walked in on her kissing one of the immunes that the Right Arm had picked up. A tall, handsome guy named Evan. Thomas didn't handle it well. He had been stupid and jealous and accused Brenda of playing games with him.

But Brenda wasn't one to back down from a fight and she told him that if anyone was giving mixed signals then it was _him_. She reminded Thomas that _he_ was the one that was always seeking her out. The one that kept jumping in between her and whatever danger they were in. He was the one shooting her all those warm, lingering glances. And he was definitely the one that dragged her out of bed to go on a scouting mission, in the middle of the night...alone.

And when she had finally done something about all his _attention_ and kissed him, he was the one that shut her down. So he couldn't expect her to be waiting around pining for him. Life in the scorch was short enough as it was, and she was already living on borrowed time.

Thomas hadn't meant to hurt her. When she'd kissed him it had been a shock, but a good one. He liked kissing her. Really liked it. But then he started having all these flashbacks of Teresa. And it got weird kissing Brenda, when there was somebody else's voice in his head.

So he'd pulled away and things got awkward after that. And a few days later, before he could even figure out what he was feeling, he caught her kissing Evan. He accused her of trying to make him jealous and after that they stopped talking for a while.

Living together and putting their lives in each other's hands on missions had forced them to soften toward each other before too long. But they had never talked about what had happened between them, they just sort of came to an unspoken understanding about it.

They had feelings for eachother that much was clear. But until Thomas got his head straightened out they were gonna have to give eachother some space.

So Thomas had tried his best not confuse things more than he already had. He tried to rein in his need to protect her. Brenda was more than capable in a fight. She didn't need him second guessing her anyway. He tried to stop seeking out her company so much, she'd asked for space and he did his best to give it to her. He stopped staying up with by the fire late at night, he quit picking her as his partner on missions and tried not to let his eyes linger on her when she wasn't looking.

He didn't always succeed. But whatever else was going on between them, they were friends. So he was gonna do his best to try.

Brenda for her part quit making out with other guys, at least as far as he knew she had. She also quit touching him. Brenda for all her gruffness was an unusually tactile person.

She tended to sit really close. To squeeze his arm when he was frustrated, to lean her arm against his whenever they were pouring over a map, to ruffle her hand through his hair when he was being too serious, to rest her head on his shoulder when she was tired.

At first it was really awkward to have a beautiful girl in his space, because he had no idea what to do with himself. But once he was able to relax, he came to savour those blameless little touches. It felt good to be close to her like that. It felt like...trust. And he found that he really missed that easy contact between them when it was suddenly gone.

They both avoided being alone together. In fact if they were in the same room and they weren't working, then chances Brenda would have her nose buried in a book, and she'd be subtly ignoring him.

It wasn't as easy for him. He could avoid Brenda and go for days without saying so much as a handful of words to her, but he couldn't completely tune her out. Her sudden thing with the books also made him curious, and Thomas was like a dog with a bone when he got curious. He almost never caught her reading the same book. He kept wondering where she was getting them all from.

He eventually asked Jorge about it and the older man had divulged that Brenda's knapsack was full of dog-eared old paperbacks that she'd either traded or scavenged for. Books were her favourite treat. And she was a voracious reader, reading anything and everything from dime-store novels to old travel books.

Ever since then whenever he caught her reading, he felt like he was privy to something really special and intimate about her. It was like being able to see few gaps in her armour and it made him infinitely more curious.

A few months after he'd caught her kissing Evan, Thomas was scavenging a rusted out truck for parts with Vince and Jorge. When he'd found a dusty old book in the glove compartment. It was a book of poetry with a half torn cover and split spine but he'd stuffed it in his jacket anyway.

After they'd unloaded the truck parts, he'd tossed the book in her empty hammock, and let her assume it was from Jorge.

He felt a little twist of satisfaction when he caught her reading it later that day in the afternoon sun. He liked the way she smiled as she read it. He probably liked it a little too much.

So whenever they went out scavenging after that he'd go out of his way to search for books for her.

Every time he'd salvage one, he'd leave it out for her to find. It became something of a game for him to find a clever place to leave each one for her to stumble upon.

He left a book of fairytales for her on her work bench, amongst her shotgun shells and gun-oil. Stuffed a travel book in one of the pockets of her cargo jacket. And flung a book on mythology into the backseat of Jorge's rover when she wasn't looking. He wasn't sure if she even knew it was him doing it.

But that didn't matter. Every time he saw her reading one of them it was worth it. It felt good in the midst of all the planning, training and scavenging to do one little selfish thing. _To make her smile_.

Since she didn't know it was him doing it, he's reasonably sure it doesn't count as flirting.

But since he'd woken up in the medical shack three weeks ago Brenda had started breaking some of the little unspoken rules between them.

She was sitting close again and kept finding little excuses to touch him. Her shoulder would almost always brush against his when they'd walk side by side, and her hands always seemed to linger on him whenever she'd check his stitches.

He didn't think it was intentional, she wouldn't push his buttons on purpose, he knew that now. He thinks it might just be her way of reassuring herself that he's really there with her after everything that had happened. But whatever the reason, he's grateful for it, because he had really started to crave the contact. 

He doesn't remember anything that happened after he'd passed out in the berg. But from what they've told him it had been very touch and go there for a while. To the point that none of them had been sure he was going to make it.

Brenda, Frypan, Minho, Aris and Vince had all taken turns watching over him, just to make sure he was still breathing.

Guilt clenches in his throat.

_Maybe that's why all of them were still being so weird with him._  


	3. Not Out of the Woods

 

Thomas scavenges through the storehouse and finds a spool of thread and an old sheet. He takes the sheet down to the river and scrubs it clean, letting it dry, before cutting it into thin strips for bandages. He brings the thread and stack of bandages to medical shack. Vince doesn't say anything about it, he's good like that. He just gives him a nod and Thomas knows that his silent apology has been accepted.

As he leaves the medical shack he casts a quick hopeful glance toward the woods. Thomas scowls when he realizes what he's doing and shakes his head at himself. He heads down the beach looking for something to distract himself with. He finds himself wandering over to the cooking hut to see what Frypan is up to.

The cooking hut is relatively simple, not much more than a thatched roof covering two brush stick walls. But Frypan's got everything neat and organized. A variety of wild spices dangle from the edge of the roof drying in the sun, and a series of scavenged pots and pans are hung up on pegs in the support beams.

Along one of the open walls facing the sea, flat slabs of rock have been stacked up and mortared with clay to form a makeshift worktable. Thomas grins as he sidles up to the stone counter and sees Frypan struggling to dissect a rather large, odd looking fruit. He waits a second until Fry has his knife good and wedged in the husk of the strange, purple fruit before making himself know.

"Hey, Fry."

"Hi, Tom." Frypan mutters distractedly, as he tries to pry his knife free. Thomas huffs with laughter at the way his friend's face is pinched with annoyance.

"Whatcha got there?" He asks, his tone lilting with amusement. Frypan lifts the fruit by the knife wedged in it over his head and brings it down on the stone countertop hard. The fruit is still intact and when Frypan lets go of it, it does little more than wobble from side to side with the knife still firmly lodged in place.

Frypan shakes his head, "I have no idea." He admits wiping his hands off on the front of his apron.

"Want some help with that?" He asks, gesturing toward the fruit.

"Nah, I don't wanna risk losing anymore knives."

"Got anything else for me to do?" Thomas asks, hopefully.

Frypan grits his teeth, "Yeah…" he hesitates, "but you're not gonna like it."

His shoulders droop, "It's coconuts…isn't it?"

Fry gives him a small apologetic grin. "Sorry. If you come back in a few hours I'll have something else for you to do, promise."

Thomas waves him off, "S'ok. How many do you need?"

"I dunno, like, six."

Thomas nods, "O.K., I'll bring them by in a couple hours." He says as he knocks his fist on the stone counter and turns to leave.

"Hey, Thomas, wait." He turns back around to find Frypan scrambling to wrap something up. "Here," he says handing him something wrapped in cloth. "You didn't stop by for breakfast. You should eat something." Thomas unwraps the cloth finding some sort of bread cake and a handful of dried fruit.

He gives Frypan a teasing smile and says, "Aw, thanks, Mom."

Frypan scowls at him and lifts his knife still wedged in the purple fruit and brandishes it at him comically. "Hey! I will cut you, Man."

Thomas backs away snickering, "Not with that knife, you won't," he says, while popping a dried piece of fruit in his mouth.

"Just go get me my coconuts, you lazy shank," Frypan says, waving him off good-naturedly.

Thomas finishes the dried fruit and half the bread cake as he makes his way to the edge of the sand and into the tall grass. He wraps the other half of the bread cake in the cloth and stuffs it in his pocket. He follows a short path into the trees to where Jorge and a half dozen of the younger kids are gathered around a pile of coconuts.

The kids are all busy husking coconuts while Jorge is cracking them open with a machete. Most of them perk up when they see him, some of them moving closer to sit by him. Thomas settles down on one of the rocks and nods greeting them all by name. He's spent a lot of time here over the last few weeks.

Jorge snickers as the kids start to pepper Thomas with questions, all of them vying for his attention. Thomas tries to keep up with their questions and show interest because it seems to mean so much to them. He picks up the other machete and gets to work along side Jorge.

He and Jorge get a good rhythm going and soon have to stop cracking open coconuts and let the kids catch up. They set down their machete's and start husking alongside the kids. Thomas stretches and rolls his shoulders, his muscles still a bit sore from thatching.

As he stretches, he notices a boy sitting a bit father off. He's sitting with his back propped against the trunk of the tree, angled away from the rest of the group. He was small and slight, easy to go unnoticed partially obscured by the tree. Thomas frowns. He moved over to sit near Jorge. "Has he said anything yet?" Thomas asks under his breath, jutting his chin toward the young boy. Jorge follows Thomas' gaze and frowns.

"No." He said shaking his head, "God only knows what WCKD did to that poor little niño. But he hasn't said a word since Bren, got him out of the city." Thomas feels a surge of anger. He's just a little kid. And from the size of him he couldn't have been older than eight.

He remembers this boy from when he'd yanked open the cell door in WCKD's compound. He'd seen a lot of scared faces that night, but the fear in this kid's eyes had been etched into his memory. All the other kids they'd rescued from WCKD have been doing well on the island, they were adjusting, thriving.

But this boy always keeps himself apart. He doesn't talk. Doesn't smile and won't make eye contact. He doesn't let anyone close except for Brenda and Jorge. He'll follow them around camp like a shadow, but keeps far away from everyone else. He startles easy to, quickly able to scale a tree or flee if he feels the least bit threatened. He was fast, and quiet flitting around from place to place without even being noticed.

Thomas digs his machete into the dirt as he observes the child. The boy sensing eyes on him turns his head, locking eyes with Thomas. And in that moment Thomas knows that whatever WCKD had done to this boy, it was still going on in his head. _WCKD still has him._

Thomas drops his eyes and digs his machete into the earth with a little more force. Then with a shake of his head he stands up and starts toward the rocky incline that leads to the grove of trees. He's not sure what he plans on doing when he starts walking. He just knows he's gotta do something. Because he can't just sit idly by and let this kid stay trapped in WCKD for one more second.

 


	4. Bread Cakes and Coconuts

Thomas tries to keep his eyes pointed downward as he navigates the rocky incline that leads up to the trees. He doesn’t want to spook the kid. He lets his eyes flit upward for a second, just long enough to glance at the boy. The kid is watching him with wary eyes and stiff shoulders.

Thomas drops his eyes and chews on his lip. He purposely takes a long, meandering route to the trees, letting the boy observe him and giving him ample opportunity to flee. When he finally stops at the foot of the tree and chances another glance at the boy, he notices that the kid has stopped watching him. His eyes are locked on the coconut in his hands instead, but his hands are no longer busy. Thomas swallows down his trepidation and offers the kid a small smile.

“Hey, is it alright if I come sit?” He asks touching his abdomen gingerly for effect. “I gotta take a rest.” The boy’s grey eyes flick up to stare at him for a moment. He’s banking on the fact that this kid has seen Brenda tend to his bandage often enough, that it’ll buy him a little sympathy. He waits, watching the wheels turning in the boy’s head. After a few seconds the boy takes his knife and coconut and shuffles to the back of the tree, facing away from Thomas. Thomas blows out a breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Until it occurs to him that the boy isn’t leaving, he’s just offering him space.

As he moves closer he keeps his eyes on the boy’s shoulder, the only part of him that isn’t obstructed by the tree. When he’s relatively sure the kid isn’t going to bolt, he sits. Propping his back against the tree, he draws his knees up. But the move tugs at his stitches and Thomas hisses as a sharp twinge ripples through his side. He shifts against the tree, gingerly stretching his legs out in front of himself instead. “Thanks.” He mutters to the kid, his voice a little hoarse from the pain.

He leans his head back against the tree, his eyes closed, his jaw tense for a few seconds, waiting for the pain to ebb. He startles slightly when something strikes his leg. His eyes fly open. A freshly husked coconut with a hole in one of it’s eyes, wobbles on it’s side next to him. Thomas grins shooting a glance over his shoulder at the profile of the boy. Lifting the coconut to his mouth he takes a long drink of the sweet water. Then he brushes his mouth with the back of his hand as some of it dribbles down his chin. Twisting his shoulders, so he can see more of the boy’s profile he sets the coconut down and rolls it back to the boy.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

The boy makes no acknowledgement that he’s heard him, he just reclaims the coconut and starts working at it with his knife with renewed interest. Thomas sighs and turns back around settling back against the tree. The ground beneath him is warm from the sun, and through the branches overhead the sky is a startling blue. A rush of wind rustles through the trees, ruffling through his hair and kicking up the rich, spicy scent of tree blossoms and palm leaves.

He gets lost for a moment just watching the younger immunes with Jorge. He listens to their muffled chatter and smirks when Jorge’s rich laughter fills the air. Behind him he hears the steady rhythmic scrape of the boy’s knife. A sharp crack draws Thomas attention back over his shoulder, and his eyebrows arch when he notices how efficiently the boy has cracked open the coconut on his own.

Thomas shifts against the tree angling his body back toward the boy. “Whoa, how’d you do that?” He asks enviously. He’s been prying open coconuts for weeks now, but it’s a slow, difficult task. And even though he’s weaker than usual, he’s still a lot bigger and stronger than this kid. The boy pauses in his motions, and he looks at Thomas out of the corner of his eye for a fraction of a second. Then he hesitantly sets down the two halves of the open coconut and picks up a fresh one.

His eyes dart toward Thomas again for a few seconds before picking up the husked coconut in his hand and turning in his grasp. Then the boy picked up his knife and turned it over so that he had the blunt edge of the knife poised over the coconut. Then he brought the blunt edge of the knife down hard on the coconut. Thomas cocks his head confused until the boy turns the coconut in his grasp showing Thomas a long, clean crack. Then setting down the knife the boy yanks on either side of the coconut and it split cleanly in half.

Thomas does a double take, then grins. “How’d you learn that?” The boy pauses again, his eyes flitting toward Thomas for a few seconds longer than before. Then he sets down the coconut and reaches for his shirt sleeve. Rolling up his sleeve he holds up his wrist indicating his wrist watch. Thomas stares at it for a few seconds trying to work out what the kid is trying to show him, until he realizes that he’s seen this watch before. It’s the same one that Brenda always wears.

Thomas grins. “Brenda, taught you.” The boys eyes dart up to look at Thomas a look of shock in his eyes, as he gives Thomas a quick jerky nod. Then the boy drops his eyes again and curls his hand around the wrist watch almost protectively. He focuses on it for a few seconds, before his eyes flit back to Thomas then he taps the face of the watch and gestures toward the woods on the other side of the beach.

Thomas feels a surge of excitement. “Yeah, that’s right, Brenda’s out hunting. She gave you that before she left?” The boy looks down before nodding. The boy fidgets with his knife, almost looking sad.  
“You miss her?” Thomas asks. The boy shrugs his shoulder and reclaims one of the coconut halves. The boy keeps his eyes pointedly fixed downward as he starts to pry strips of coconut meat free.

“Yeah,” Thomas says with a long sigh as he sinks back against the tree trunk, “Me too, kid.” The boy pauses in his work to cast him another look. “But don’t worry. If anybody know’s what they’re doing, it’s Bren. She’ll be back before you know it.”

The boy gives a jerky nod and picks up a long strip of coconut meat, taking a bite. As he watches the boy chew it, Thomas remembers the half eaten break cake in his pocket. Pulling it out he unwraps it and offers it to the scrawny looking boy.

The boy watches Thomas and looks longingly at the bread cake but won’t make a move to take it. So Thomas set it down about midway between them and moves to stand.

“Well, I should get back.” Thomas says as he dusts his hands off on his pants. The boy doesn’t lift his head, just keeps staring down chewing on strips of coconut. Thomas scratches the back of his neck and squints into the sun. “It’s a nice spot you got here, kid.” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “But if you ever get the feeling like you wanna come down and join us, well, then you can always sit by me.” He tells him with a small reassuring smile.

The boy doesn’t lift his head again, or acknowledge that he’s heard him. So Thomas just gives him a one last glance in parting, then heads back down the hill toward the others. Picking up his machete he kneels down by Jorge and starts working on his next coconut.

Later as he’s slinging a bag of coconuts over his shoulder he glances back toward the tree. Then he ducks his head grinning as he walks away. The bread cake he’d left at the foot of the tree was missing.


	5. The Middle of Everything

Thomas spends the rest of the day helping Frypan and his crew prepare supper for the whole camp. Frypan keeps him busy stoking fires, hauling water, chopping vegetables and mincing spices. He helps Frypan carry a large cast iron pot out to the camp's central fire pit so that they can prepare Frypan's wild boar stew. Under Fry's direction Thomas stirs in spices, carrots, yams, corn and wild onions. As the stew thickens it fills the camp with a rich, savoury aroma.

After Frypan is satisfied with the flavour, he leaves others to tend to the stew and brings Thomas back to the hut. They gut twelve large fish and stuff them with minced herbs and spices and slices of fruit. Binding them back up with a sturdy twine they haul them over to the large central fire pit and set them up on skewers to roast.

Then Frypan teaches Thomas how to grind up some of the wild grains with a rock to make a course brown flour. Frypan makes a sticky sort of dough that they roll into dozens of small round biscuits. They brush them with coconut water and fry them in a small cast iron pan over one of the smaller cooking fires. Thomas burns a few before he gets the hang of it. But after a little practice he manages to cook them till they are golden brown. The biscuits turn out to be perfectly moist and flaky. Frypan and Thomas share a few and he can't help feeling stupidly proud of them.

The sun is hanging low when everyone gathers for supper. Brenda and Gally still aren't back yet, and he can't help feeling disappointed. As people settle down to eat, he spots the quiet little boy sitting on a rock on the outskirts of the fire near the shore. The boy's eyes are set on the entrance to the woods. Jorge is near the fire, filling two bowls with stew. Thomas wraps up half a dozen biscuits in a cloth and gives him to the old smuggler.

"Thanks, hermano." He says, tucking them under his arm. Thomas watches him carry them back to the boy, and he chuckles when he notices how quickly the kid wolfs down a biscuit.

Grabbing a bowl he portions himself out some stew, and tucks in beside Minho, Frypan and Aris on a log near the fire.

Minho smirks at Frypan and nudges Thomas' arm, "Fry, please tell me you didn't actually let this good for nothing shank, cook anything," he teases.

Thomas brings his spoon half way to his mouth and then casts Minho a sideways glance, with a wink, "Yeah, I'd chew careful, if I was you," he fires back. Minho's smile falters and he stares down suspiciously at his bowl, raking his spoon through it carefully. Aris snorts around his spoonful of stew and Frypan's shoulders shake with laughter.

The stew is hot and flavourful, Thomas scrapes his bowl clean and then rips off chunks of biscuit to dab up the juices. The stuffed fish turns out to be his favourite though. It flakes off the bone easily, with a juicy, smoky flavour. He finishes off three decent size pieces on his own. Thomas and Minho trade a few good-natured jibes as they eat. Aris starts telling them about a series of caves he's discovered on the south side of the island when voices start raising by the fire. Thomas' eyes dart toward the noise and he sees a burly guy holding up a much smaller immune by the front of his shirt.

He recognizes the big guy as Davis, he's one of the oldest immunes and was part of the first group to be sent to the island by the Right Arm. The smaller immune was one of the new arrivals, and wouldn't stand much of a chance against Davis.

Thomas is halfway out of his seat before he even realizes what he's doing. Minho jumps up and clamps a hand on his shoulder, holding Thomas back. "Easy," he cautions, "Let Vince, handle it." He says, jutting his chin toward where the resistance fighter is already yanking the two boys apart. Davis whirls on Vince, but stops short when he recognizes the older man. The bigger immune reluctantly backs down.

"See," Minho says, letting go of Thomas' arm. "You don't gotta get in the middle of everything."

"Yeah," Thomas grunts, clapping his friend on the shoulder, but he still feels uneasy about the whole thing. His eyes follow Davis, as the older immune stalks off down the beach. Something about the set of the guy's shoulders tells him that whatever just happened...it's far from over. He tries to convince himself that he's just overreacting.

When Frypan and the others head back to the cooking hut to clean up, Thomas offers to go down to the river to haul water.

As he makes his way back toward the cooking hut, the sun begins to sink below the horizon, setting the clouds on fire. He's got a pair of water jugs slung over one shoulder, the water sloshes from side to side with every step he takes. He hitches the strap on his shoulder, squinting into the fading sunlight. As he rounds the corner of the cooking hut, he suddenly stops in his tracks. A few feet away from him, Brenda is leaning her hip against the stone counter, staring out at the sunset. She's holding an exotic looking fruit in one hand and slicing off a strip of it as she stares out at the sea. Using her knife she brings the slice of fruit up to her lips and pops it in her mouth, before licking the juice from her fingertips. 

 Thomas stands there dumbly for a few seconds, just watching her. Then he blinks, his lips curving into a smile as he moves toward her. 


	6. Chapter Six (teaser)

Thomas clears his throat as he comes up behind her. Brenda turns her head and smiles warmly, “Hey,” she says in that low, husky voice of hers. His stomach swoops a little just from the way she says it. Thomas drops his eyes, shrugging the water cans down off his shoulder, and sets them down between their feet.

“Hi,” he says, as his eyes flit back to hers. Brenda tilts her head at him, chewing on her lip, as she tries and fails to suppress her smirk. “You were, uh…,” Thomas clears his throat, as he rubs a knuckle along his eyebrow, “You and Gally were gone a long time.”

“Uh-huh,” she mutters, nonchalantly. Then her eyes flick down to the fruit in her hand. She carves her knife into it again, slicing off another strip. Pinning the fleshy, fruit to the flat of her blade with her thumb, she lifts it to her mouth. Then she pauses just before taking a bite, casting him a look over the blade. “You, keepin’ tabs on me, Thomas?” She asks, with a quirk of her eyebrow. Her tone light, amused.

Thomas shakes his head sputtering, “No! I wasn't—I just, uh, I’m just observant. I guess…” he trails off lamely, as he rakes a hand through his hair, boyishly.

Brenda’s eyes gleam with laughter as she bites into the vibrant-looking, yellow fruit. Thomas blows out a breath and shakes his head when he notices that victorious little grin she’s sporting while she chews. _She’s playing with him._

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


End file.
